


Viciously, Into the Dark Abyss

by snarkyscorp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, M/M, Memories of Attempted Child Molestation, Pain, Possession, Sexual Coercion, Torture, Voyeurism, undiluted evil, use of unforgivables
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-04
Updated: 2009-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:57:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/pseuds/snarkyscorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The portrait that was shoved in the back of the cellar was the most dangerous thing Scorpius Malfoy had ever come across in his life. Unfortunately, he didn't realize just how dangerous it was until he tried to drown it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Viciously, Into the Dark Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://hp-darkfest.livejournal.com/profile)[**hp_darkfest**](http://hp-darkfest.livejournal.com/). Thanks an ungodly amount to [](http://pink-mint.livejournal.com/profile)[**pink_mint**](http://pink-mint.livejournal.com/), who helped make this what it is.

 

Scorpius found it by accident, sitting in the back of some ancient cellar, cobwebbed and weathered around its gilded edges. It was quite clear that somebody had wanted to get rid of it, and Scorpius fantasized of his grandfather casting it aside after the war and spitting curses like, "Get this bloody thing out of my sight!" at it in frustration. Scorpius could even imagine his own father shoving it into the furthest corner of the room, turning it around to face the wall, hoping it would just disappear on its own so he wouldn't have to look at it or deal with the consequences of its existence.

Of course, Scorpius understood why someone would want it gone. It was an awful reminder of the war, of the things the Malfoys had done and who they associated with. It was also illegal; though Scorpius knew of no law in place that said so, if someone like Auror Harry Potter got his hands on it, the Malfoy name would be rubbish again, the crust off a Muggle's boots.

So Scorpius fully intended on disposing of it himself and writing Auror Potter a letter and becoming a hero. After Potter had dismissed him from the Auror program (citing that Scorpius was 'wet behind the ears', 'hungry for premature infamy', and 'too prone to hero worship'), Scorpius knew he had to show him that the decision was a foolish and immature one. Scorpius would have made a perfect Auror, fighting alongside the biggest and greatest heroes of his time. But Potter was selfish, egotistical, and held a grudge against the Malfoy name.

Scorpius would prove him wrong, though, and this would change everything. With this single deed and a letter to explain it, there was no doubt in his mind that the Ministry would be mad to turn him away. If he rid the world of this ghoulish reminder of the war, if it was because of Scorpius that peace was restored when nobody even knew there was a threat hidden away, then there would be nothing to stop him. Sights set high, Scorpius heaved the thing onto his shoulders and snuck out of the Manor at half past midnight.

The trouble began when Scorpius set it down just shy of the River Avon in Wiltshire. The corner of the dingy sheet slipped off the gilded corner and a pair of dark, black eyes peered out at him.

Seeing them, Scorpius dropped the gold frame and darted back a step. The portrait clattered obscenely loud in the darkness of the night, against the unforgiving stone streets, and the eyes disappeared behind the fabric again.

  
**[+].[+].[+]**   


It took a moment to right himself, to remember that there was a task at hand and if Scorpius didn't burn the damn thing as he'd planned—a simple spell to extinguish all evidence—then he would have to drown it in the river or rip it apart with his bear hands, because there was no turning back. He wouldn't let the Ministry think he was just some kid from a privileged line and war-torn families; he was something much bigger than all of this.

But the eyes frightened him. If he didn't have to look at it, if he could just cast a spell with his own eyes closed and not think that there was someone in there, someone who could feel the pain and scream against the intrusion of death, then it would be easier to do away with it. If only he had the strength of his father or grandfather, both of whom were said to have murdered without qualms, without tears or guilt or denial of the desire. But no, Scorpius had his mother's sensitivity about him, had her weaknesses ingrained in his blood.

He thought of his mother briefly then, of the paleness of her face as she left them, of the roll of her eyes at the hearing when she told them she didn't love them. Even in her cowardice, she had some strength to be envied.

Even his mother could have disposed of this thing with a yawn and well-wound wave of her wand. But Scorpius couldn't.

He dropped to his knees before it, as if to worship the tarnished gold edges, but instead pulled the sheet free with one swift jerk and exposed the pale, robed figure trapped behind a screen of off-white canvas.

"Hello," it said, dark eyes scanning Scorpius. The figure approached the very edges of the painting to which it belonged and grinned. His wide-toothed smile was handsome and morbidly void of all happiness, his fine hairs combed back tightly. "My name is Tom."

  
**[+].[+].[+]**   


Scorpius watched the portrait of Tom Riddle sink under the waves in the river. He held his breath, waiting for a scream, a sob, a gurgle, any noise at all from beneath the quick current. It seemed he waited an eternity before he heard or saw anything at all. But there, along the crest of a wave several meters down, Scorpius saw the portrait bobbing in the rush.

An insane impulse flooded Scorpius's young body until he quivered in fear of the decision before him. It was someone else's problem now if he just watched it sink or swim along its way. Or he could rescue it, dive in and carry it to safety upon the shore.

Except saving the portrait meant saving _that thing_ , and that thing had once nearly destroyed everything.

The water was ice cold on his skin as Scorpius dove beneath the surface. The current felt like death gripping his shoulders, the pressure thick as he sank lower under the dark, murky waters.

  
**[+].[+].[+]**   


It took Scorpius twenty minutes to chase the portrait down the river. The current raced Scorpius along after it, and he swam hard to keep up.

When he was five, his Aunt Daphne had procured swimming instructions for him. Tossed into a pool at the Manor, he was taught how to swim like a professional, how to dive gracefully, and when he got out of the water and excused himself to the bathroom, he'd stared at his wrinkled skin in confusion. Aunt Daphne found him in the loo and showed him a spell that would make his skin tight and beautiful again. Her fingers, with their long, claw-like nails, brushed over his stomach and he felt a funny thrill sizzle down his spine. But when her fingers dipped below the waistband of his swim trunks, he'd cried loud enough to alert his father to come and retrieve him.

The memory had resurfaced of its own accord. Scorpius hadn't thought about Daphne in years, had never told anyone about what had happened in that bathroom, but the same feeling of helpless terror gripped him now. He fell below the surface of the water once again and just let the river carry his tired limbs and bones and blood where it willed.

When Scorpius came to, he was washed up on the shore and the light from the sun was streaking low in between the Wiltshire trees. The portrait lay beside him, and Tom Riddle coughed up river water, hair matted over his black eyes.

  
**[+].[+].[+]**   


Draco paced across the room, fingernails digging into the white skin of his arms in half-moons. Astoria sat with her lifeless, cold expression, her slender, birdlike nose tipped as a file brushed over the edges of her nails. Her pursed lips were dark red as she sighed, releasing the noise for the seventh time that hour. Draco was sorry to have told her that Scorpius went missing, sorry to have invited her back to the Manor to wait for news with him, sorry to see her again after all that she had done to tarnish the Malfoy name.

The bell on the Malfoy's grandfather clock struck six times.

Astoria turned to face it, and Draco stilled his pacing as his gaze twisted towards the fireplace. Not a second later, Harry Potter charged through it, caught up in smoke and carrying a pair of shoes in his grip. His official-issue Ministry robes billowed behind him. He looked worn and tired, bags under his eyes and a frown on his face, skin pale white and hair damp with sweat, speckled with gray.

"Well?" Astoria barked before Draco could find the words. She rose from her seat, nail file flying. "Where is Scorpius?"

Potter looked somewhat green, as if he might be sick all over the fine wood floors. It was then, as Potter's mouth bobbed slowly open and closed in silence, that Draco got a better look at the expensive leather shoes Potter was holding.

"Those belonged to Scorpius; I bought them for his sixteenth birthday," Draco barked, rushing at Potter with cold aggression. With a shove, he had Potter cornered against the edge of the fireplace, a clammy hand fisted at his robes. "You tell me where you found those and why they're the only things you brought me back of my son." There was a tremble in Draco's voice that had never been there before. Potter must have been shocked at the sincerity of it.

Potter's mouth quirked down and his frown reached every corner of his face. "I'm sorry, Draco."

Draco froze. He felt like some great void had split his body in two, the color draining from his face as his fist wrinkled Potter's robes and shook in his sudden flood of anger, desperation, and grief.

"I have our best men out looking for Scorpius right now, but when we found these…" Potter's voice caught. "I don't want you to lose hope—there's still a chance we could locate him—but after searching the river, this was all that was left."

Draco pulled away from Potter and stumbled into the adjoining room, straight to the bar. The mirror above it showed the lines under his eyes, the wrinkles at his lips, the hopeless desperation on his face as he picked up a glass and filled it with dark, red whiskey. Searching his own ghoulish gaze, he tipped the glass back and swallowed the stinging alcohol in one go, some of it dribbling down his chin.

Scorpius had not been seen since yesterday, when he had had dinner with Draco and told him about the Auror issue. Draco of course had been furious too, but he had never expected that his son would commit suicide over it. After all, there were other chances, this wasn't finished, and Potter wouldn't be Head Auror forever. Draco knew that with time and patience (and possibly proper training), Scorpius would be well received as an Auror. It would not have been Draco's first choice as a profession for his only child, but it was what Scorpius wanted, and he would have helped Scorpius wherever he could manage.

Except that Scorpius would never have a chance now.

A hand on his shoulder startled Draco. In the reflection, Potter's face was close to his.

"I'll keep looking, all right? It's not over yet. I promise, I'll keep searching."

Potter pressed the pair of fine leather shoes into Draco's shaking grip and gingerly guided the alcohol away. The patronizing, better-than-thou pressure of Potter's hand on his shoulder just made Draco feel ever more discouraged. He was not ashamed when he sank to his knees, covered his face with his son's shoes, and sobbed into the dirtied material.

  
**[+].[+].[+]**   


"You tried to drown me," Tom said hoarsely. "You do realize you can kill a portrait the same way you can kill a normal man, don't you, boy?"

Scorpius focused his gaze on Tom's wet face in the portrait. If anything, Scorpius was older than him, and it was patronizing to be called _boy_ like that. At the same time, it flooded Scorpius with a strange thrill he couldn't quite name.

"Are you deaf?" Tom snapped, crawling forward, his eyes glittering darkly. "I said you could have killed me."

"I'm sorry," Scorpius lied, eyes still raking over Tom's face: the boyish curves of his cheeks, the high tip of his nose, the dark pout of his mouth. It was hard to believe this was the same boy who would grow up to be a monster. "But I _was_ trying to drown you, and if you don't shut up, I'll do it again, and this time I won't jump in to save you afterward."

"Save me?" Tom spat, laughing. "I saved _you_ just now, didn't you know? You were drowning in there and you got swept up on top of me, and without my frame to support you, you'd be blue-faced and bobbing down river for your parents to find. You should thank me, boy."

"You don't understand." But even Scorpius couldn't deny that if what Tom Riddle said was true, then Scorpius owed him a life debt because without his assistance, even slight, he'd have surely drowned.

Tom grinned, obviously on par with Scorpius's thoughts. "Mind carrying me some place I can get dry? We can talk about how you can repay me when we are alone. Now come on. You're not dead, so brush yourself off, wring out your shirt, and take me somewhere safe."

Scorpius stared at Tom's sneering face. It was the ugliest, most heartless look he had ever seen, and now he understood why the portrait had been hidden from the rest of his family. Surely, no one wanted to look at it, and maybe Scorpius wasn't the only person incapable of destroying it. Maybe that was why it was tucked gingerly away under a warm blanket, like a child that needed to be put to bed.

Without warning, Scorpius flung the torn, wet linens over the painting, covering Tom's portrait as best he could. Muffled screams underneath unnerved Scorpius like nothing else could, his skin prickling from the cold and fear. He had just managed to hoist the portrait up into his arms again and ran a few steps when he crashed face-first into the very person who he was most afraid of seeing.

"Scorpius!" Harry exclaimed, reaching out to grip Scorpius's shoulders to settle him from tumbling backwards with his portrait.

"Auror Potter," Scorpius said dully. He tried to pull away, but Harry's grip was strong on him, forcing him still.

"Your father has half the Auror Department out looking for you. Are you all right?"

Scorpius couldn't help but scoff. "You can save the act for my father when next you see him. I'm sure he will be impressed." And then, as if to clarify, Scorpius jerked from Harry's grip and added, "I'm fine."

Harry's brows furrowed, eyes raking over Scorpius's disheveled appearance, with his dripping hair and white face. "You don't look fine. Care to tell me what happened now, or should we go down to St. Mungo's first so you can explain it to the healers?"

"Excuse me?"

"You tried to commit suicide, Scorpius. Your family is worried sick, I've been searching for you myself for nearly a full day, and you're going to need help now that we know you're alive."

Anger and humiliation flooded Scorpius as he put all the pieces together. "I didn't try to commit suicide."

Harry shook his head, laying a hand on Scorpius's frail shoulder. "Scorpius, you can't just—"

"I dropped this portrait in the river," Scorpius snapped, jerking away for the second time. "I dove in to retrieve it and got caught under the current. But I'm fine now. See? No bruises or anything."

"You don't look or sound fine," Harry said. "Now come on, I'll take you home, and your family can decide whether or not you need a healer to look you over."

"No!" Scorpius shouted. His hoarse voice was so loud, he even frightened himself. Clutching the portrait under his arm, he wrapped the sheet tighter around it, hoping Tom had enough sense to hide himself under whatever stretch of fabric he could manage. The thought of trying to hide this thing under his arm while Harry returned him to the Manor was so ludicrous it was out of the question. "No, I don't want to go home right now."

Scorpius decided since he couldn't tell Harry the truth, he needed to concoct an extravagant lie, and Scorpius was nothing if not a believable liar. "Please don't make me go home like this." He turned his searching gaze up to Harry and promptly noted the compassion smoothing the lines of Harry's face. Harry had children; he would understand and sympathize.

"Like I said, I'd be happy to help you get to St. Mungo's, and I can Firecall your father from there."

Scorpius hung his head and let out a sob that was unbearably believable. This time, when Harry's hand awkwardly found its way to his shoulder, Scorpius didn't shrug it off. On the contrary, he seemed to wilt under it. He even bent forward, just enough to lay his head to Harry's broad chest. It was not surprising that Harry didn't push him away.

"Isn't there somewhere else?" Scorpius asked. "Your office at the Ministry, your house, anywhere but home or St. Mungo's…"

Harry's fingers clenched gently, rubbing Scorpius's shoulder in what he must have thought was a soothing gesture. Scorpius offered a little shudder, as if already broken down into tears.

"I really shouldn't," Harry said quietly.

"I just…need a few moments to myself." Scorpius lifted his head, crocodile tears glittering in his eyes. "Please, sir? Just for an hour or two, I promise. I don't want to be alone, but…I can't face them. Not yet. My father will…" Bowing his head, oh how he was unable to finish even that sentence. Let Harry think what he would of his father.

The silence throbbed between them, until Harry took Scorpius's chin and tipped it. Harry was smiling sadly.

"Come on," Harry said, guiding Scorpius away from the river.

  
**[+].[+].[+]**   


Harry's house was not unlike what Scorpius might have imagined when he was a young child dreaming of the Boy Who Lived. It was quaint if not small for the amount of people who had once inhabited it, and it was warm, far cozier than Malfoy Manor, which was suitable to house a hundred people and far too big for just Draco and Scorpius. Harry was kind enough to put Scorpius up and offered him tea the moment they arrived.

Scorpius nodded, surveying his surroundings as Harry disappeared into the kitchen. He stowed the damp portrait against the wall behind the couch and paced before it. He jumped with a soft gasp when he thought he saw a pair of eyes glaring out at him again and fiddled with the sheet until it once again covered every last inch of the thing.

"Hungry?" Harry asked. Scorpius turned to find Harry in the doorway, holding two teacups. He offered one to Scorpius. "I could make some toast or a sandwich, if you're—"

"No," Scorpius said, accepting the tea and bringing it to his lips. It was too hot to drink, so he just inhaled the light scent of jasmine and vanilla. "Thanks for letting me stay."

Harry smiled, gesturing to the couch. "For a few hours and nothing more."

"Why is your house so quiet?" Scorpius asked as he took a seat, trying not to panic when Harry approached the portrait. If Harry discovered it, this was all over.

"My family's on a small vacation this week," Harry said, lifting the sheet off the corner of the portrait. "To Spain actually. Mind me asking why this portrait is worth jumping into the river for?"

Scorpius grimaced and turned to lay a hand on Harry's wrist. "Please don't…don't touch it."

Harry removed his hand as if it'd been stung. "Sorry. But your story doesn't sound—"

"It's an old portrait actually," Scorpius interrupted, already knowing where Harry's words were headed. "Has been in my family for years. I was going to take it to be retouched, as some of the magic's worn off."

"And you did this in the middle of the night?"

"I left early in the morning. Couldn't sleep." Scorpius removed his fingers from Harry's skin and turned away from him to sip his tea, already feeling foolishly trapped in his dangerous lie.

"Scorpius, you've been gone for nearly two days—how long does it take to get a portrait retouched?"

Scorpius blinked and he set the tea down. "I…didn't know that." The last thing Scorpius remembered was jumping into the river after the portrait, but that hadn't been very long after he'd left the Manor. He wondered suddenly just how long he'd been pushed and carried down the river, how long he'd floated unconsciously atop Tom Riddle's frame, and how long he'd coughed up water on the bank.

"Now you can see why I'm having trouble believing you jumped in to save a portrait. Your father has been out of his wits worrying about you, and I'm getting there myself."

With a sigh, Scorpius brushed his damp hair back over his forehead. "It's a very important portrait, as I've already explained. Speaking of, would you mind if I took it into your loo to clean the frame?"

Harry folded his arms but nodded. "Right over there, around the corner. Take your time."

Scorpius thanked Harry and hoisted the portrait into his arms. Carrying it into the bathroom, he closed the door behind him and immediately withdrew his wand, which was sopping wet and stuck to the linings of his pockets.

Scorpius applied a silencing charm to soundproof the bathroom as softly as he dared and ripped the sheet from the portrait. Tom Riddle stood in the center, arms folded, glowering.

"At least you know some spells," he said sharply. "But please, do tell me why you thought bringing me to Head Auror Harry Potter's house would do you any good when you're lugging around the portrait of the man who wants to kill him?"

"It was all I could think to do!" Scorpius reasoned, but then a thought struck him and his face slowly drained of its color. He stared at Tom as if he'd just seen him for the first time. "Hang on…how do you know all that about Harry Potter? You were painted years before any of that even happens. You shouldn't—"

"Oops," Tom said, chuckling. "Merlin but you are quite a smart boy, aren't you, Scorpius?"

Stomach churning, Scorpius drew closer. "How did you know my name?"

Tom continued to laugh, the sound of it morose and hollow. Scorpius wanted to cover the portrait up and smother it with his bear hands, but he was shaking too much to do anything but gape.

"Your grandfather has a wealth of information, Scorpius," Tom said. "Such a kind old man, offering me such interesting little tidbits about my life and death. I know everything, thanks to his patience."

"My grandfather has been dead for five years."

For the first time that evening, Tom looked surprised. His eyes widened, he blinked, and his mirthless sneer dropped into a pouted, angry frown. "Ah. Well that would explain why he abandoned me down there. And here I thought he just didn't want to help me anymore, that fear overwhelmed him."

"Help you do what?" Scorpius's heart was racing.

"Possess his body, of course," Tom answered with a short laugh. "Really, Scorpius, you ought to be much smarter than this. But it's all right. Because I saved your life, now you owe me mine, and I fully intend to let _you_ help me instead."

"No," Scorpius barked. "I'll tell Harry. I'll tell Harry Potter what you're trying to do, and he'll have the strength and sense to do away with you, like he always has."

"You stupid boy, do you not understand the definition of a life debt? You do not have to be willing in order for me to invoke your repayment. If I ordered you to kill yourself right now because it could save me, then you would do it without a second thought. You would strangle your pretty little neck until your bright eyes popped right out of your skull."

Scorpius felt real panic lacing through his blood. He knew only a little about life debts and how they worked, but what Tom said sounded true. It was frightening, to have so little control over himself because of Tom's luck at being a portrait that accidentally saved Scorpius's life.

"Now, what I want is quite clear, but to get it, you are going to have to smuggle me back into Malfoy Manor because the materials are down in that cellar where you found me. So you are going to get up, wipe the snot off your face, and tell Mr. Potter that you will find your own way back."

Scorpius shuddered. "There's…there's no way he'll just let me leave. He's already suspicious."

"Then gain his bloody trust, you idiot," Tom snapped, drawing close to the edge of the portrait. "What a worthless excuse of the Malfoy name you are. Your grandfather was right—you are quite slow."

Blood boiling, fear knotting his insides, Scorpius reached for his wand and pointed it at the portrait. But despite all the spells he knew that would incinerate the portrait and Tom's very existence, not a single one of them managed to leave his parted, trembling lips. He tried to scream them all at once until he was wheezing against his sudden inability to so much as breathe. The wand dropped from his fingers as he hunched over the portrait in pain, and finally, breath found its way into his body again the moment his threat to Tom's portrait was extinguished.

"See?" Tom said smugly. "If you try to kill me, you'll just end up killing yourself instead. And we wouldn't want that. You are, after all, of some use to me at this point. Now, stand up and clean yourself up properly like a good lad."

Scorpius stood on cue and washed up in the sink, cleaning the sweat and river water from his face. He looked pale in the reflection of the mirror, eyes bloodshot and lips dry and cracked. Turning back towards Tom, he tossed the sheet over him.

"What are you doing?" Tom screamed.

"I need to think," Scorpius snapped, half an excuse not to look at Tom anymore and half because he didn't want Tom looking at him while he took a piss.

Moving to the loo, he unzipped his trousers and took his dick into his fist.

"Not very big either, are you?" Tom asked, chuckling. "But I suppose not everyone can be so well-endowed."

Scorpius glared over his shoulder, where he could just make out Tom's face at the uppermost corner of the portrait, a slip of the sheet giving him the perfect opportunity to watch.

"You know, in return for possessing your body, I can help you in other ways, too," Tom whispered. The sound of his voice made something hard uncoil in Scorpius's stomach and lower, into the heavy roundness of his balls. "There really is no limit to what I can do once I have a body, and I won't be using yours forever. If you are willing, the spell is much easier, and I reward willingness. You must know that from your history books."

Scorpius was still gripping himself, but his eyes had closed of their own volition, and he didn't have to piss anymore but he could feel the heat slithering down between his legs, a pang of desire boiling in his blood. Some part of him felt humiliated that Tom thought he was small, but another part of him felt floored that someone would talk to him like that, would treat him without care, would just put him in his place, take away his choice.

"Well, that's a bit better," Tom purred. "When you are aroused, it is much, much bigger. Can you imagine what kind of pleasure I could give it with my magic? I don't think you have ever experienced anything quite like what I am able to provide in turn for your willing servitude, Scorpius."

Scorpius couldn't stop the grunt of arousal that spilled gutturally from his throat, couldn't help the way his dick twitched in his own warm fist, or the way he stroked himself just once to relieve some of the pressure and then again because it felt good and then again and again because Tom Riddle was watching until Scorpius was jerking himself off over the toilet and Tom was goading him on with quiet whispers of the pleasures he could provide once Scorpius did his part.

Scorpius imagined Tom Riddle in his body, the spirit of such undiluted evil pulsing through his veins, the power in his muscles, the exquisite torture of the pain and the release that was even better once it was over and Tom would look at him from across the room in a different body, separate but the same.

A knock on the door startled Scorpius. Before he could say not to enter yet or to tuck himself back into his trousers, the door rattled and burst open, Scorpius's simple spells extinguished from the room, exhaling all his fraught moans and his cry of panic.

Harry entered with a flourish, wand extended, pointed between Scorpius's eyes. And Scorpius, in all his flushed pleasure, stilled his hand on his dick and turned to look at Harry. If he could have seen himself as Harry did, he would have been frightened at the whites of his eyes, the red of his cheeks, the breathless need on his gaping mouth.

"I…didn't mean…" Harry stuttered, wand lowered quite slowly, though Scorpius noted his grip on it tightened. "I thought you…I didn't know…"

A voice in Scorpius's head demanded the most delicious idea, and Scorpius obeyed it without hesitation or second thoughts.

"It's all right," Scorpius said, sauntering to Harry, pressing against the hard lines of his broad-muscled body. "You can help, if you want."

Scorpius took Harry's wandless hand and pressed it over his dick. With a groan at having someone else's hand around his length, Scorpius leaned in to inhale the scent of Harry's body, his clothes, the musk of his sweat and the sweet tangle of cologne and shampoo. He could smell the power in Harry's body, the arousal, the struggle in him between what was right and what he couldn't stop.

Scorpius gripped Harry's robes with one hand, curling Harry's fist over his dick with his other, and rocked into Harry's hand. It wouldn't take long now, he was so close, he wanted this so badly, and Harry smelled so good. He could feel Tom watching them from the portrait, and he knew what Tom wanted so he leaned up and captured Harry's mouth.

Harry stumbled back with a shocked grunt, pressed up against the doorway by Scorpius's body, and his fist trembled against Scorpius's erection. Harry didn't move it, but that wasn't a problem; Scorpius forced Harry’s fist to move with his own hand, up and down the length, taking advantage of the fact that Harry was probably too surprised to move or push him away. Scorpius bit at Harry's tongue to coax it into his own mouth and didn't last but a moment longer before he cried out and came against Harry's thigh, coating his fingers and trousers with his release.

In the aftermath, Scorpius felt clammy and uncomfortable, like his skin was two sizes too small and burning like fire. Weakly, he gripped Harry for support as his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out, sliding to the floor in a crumpled, messy bundle of limbs and exhaustion.

  
**[+].[+].[+]**   


When Scorpius came to, he was on his back on the cold bathroom floor and someone was wiping a cool, wet cloth across his forehead. Thoughts meandered through his head, thoughts that did not belong to him and had no place in his mind. He remembered the events before he passed out, thrusting into Harry's fist and smelling his scent and kissing his mouth, the voice in his head driving him to release, to bite, to kill.

Gaze focusing on the shape above him, he saw Harry looking down at him. In his green eyes, Scorpius saw a wash of compassion, uncertainty, and fear.

"I've taken the liberty of owling St. Mungo's," Harry said warily. "They'll be here shortly."

Panic settled in the pit of Scorpius's stomach and he sat up, slapping Harry's hand off his forehead and then gripping it to keep him from moving away or escaping. "I thought you were going to help me," he whispered hoarsely. He cleared his throat to try and get the growl out of his voice.

"That was before you—"

"Where's my portrait?" Scorpius barked, suddenly all too aware of the fact that it was not near. "Where did you put it? I need that!"

"Calm down," Harry demanded, taking Scorpius's shoulders to hold him still, pushing him up against the bathroom wall but forcing him to remain seated. "It's right here, I didn't touch it, but if you don't tell me what's going on, there's no way I can help you." Harry's eyes flashed with some disgusted mix of dread and indecision; the emotions paled Harry's skin. "Scorpius…are you okay?"

Scorpius's eyes started to fill with tears. He was in over his head and sick to his stomach over what he owed Tom Riddle. He thought again about Tom's words, about how he would strangle his own throat if Tom told him to, if Tom thought it would save his life. The lift debt hung heavy on Scorpius's shoulders and he could taste the bitterness of it on his tongue.

"Scorpius, tell me what's wrong. Let me help you. I promise to do whatever I can."

"There's nothing you can do," Scorpius snarled, teary gaze raising with a snap to look at Harry. When Harry backed up, Scorpius knew something was wrong, but how could he have known what he looked like then with the whites of his eyes cold and lifeless and his pale, cracked lips bloodied from lack of moisture?

In the breath of silence between them, they both reached for the same thing—Harry's wand. There laying on the floor beside Scorpius's body, their fists fought for control of the slender piece of wood, but Scorpius felt floored with the strength of two and Harry was powerless to stop him from grabbing it first.

" _Crucio_!" Scorpius yelled, so loud that his shout echoed through the bathroom.

Harry was shoved backwards with the force of the spell, crippled in sudden excruciating pain near the toilet. Scorpius just pointed the wand, which burned his fingers, and let the spell do the work as he stood unsteadily to his feet and let the tears flow freely down his face. He meant it; for the first time in his life, he wanted to see someone twitch and sob in scorching, unbearable hurt. Scorpius wanted to watch Harry rip his own eyes out and peel his flesh clear off his bones. He wanted Harry to beg and cry and plead for mercy, for the gift of death that would never come.

"You think you can just toss me aside, tell me I'm not good enough, and expect that I will just forget it?" Scorpius screamed, voice shrill and high. "I am going to prove that I am so much better than you could have ever imagined, better than anyone ever imagined. You will be sorry, and you will regret, and I will leave you alive just to remember what it's like."

After what seemed an eternity, the wand dropped from Scorpius's fingers, and he sank to his knees before Harry's unconscious, barely-breathing body. The desire to kill Harry, to maim him, rip him apart, and sink his teeth into his skin faded just as quickly as it had come. Scorpius felt the guilt of what he had just done swell inside him with a crest of emotion, and tears began streaming down his cheeks. He didn't want Harry to die; he had never wanted things like that.

Voices could be heard down the hall, talking and clamoring closer.

There was a voice in his head, hissing in his ear. _Leave him—we have no time_ , it said, the force of the command so loud that Scorpius screamed in the sudden sharpness of the pain. _Bring me to the Manor, do not let anyone stand in your way, and free me from this prison._

Without thought, Scorpius rose to his feet and turned to find the portrait of Tom Riddle sitting as he'd left it on the floor.

"What's going on?" Scorpius screamed, stumbling to pick up the painting, reeling in pain from the voice in his head.

"Aurors," Tom spat. "And Healers, no doubt, you weak excuse for a wizard!"

"What should I do, Tom?" Scorpius whispered, shaking as he lifted the portrait and shoved it under his arm to carry it. "Please tell me what to do—I don't want to die."

" _Get me out of here_!" Tom screamed, the pitch of his voice biting through Scorpius's head. "Pick up your wand, point it at whoever stands in your way, and get me what I need."

Scorpius fumbled as he spotted his wand on the floor beside Harry's shuddering form. Slipping as he picked it up, he grabbed it, tightened his grip on the portrait, and rushed from the bathroom. Wand bared, he cast a hex at the first Auror he saw before the man could have seen it coming. The Auror's body fell with a thud to the floor, and Scorpius had just enough time to watch the life drain from his gaze as he raced past.

Shivering, stumbling, vision hazy and flickering in and out, Scorpius fought his way through Harry's living area, making his way to the fireplace. The floo was still emitting several healers, but Scorpius elbowed them out of the way as he grabbed a handful of powder and whispered, "Malfoy Manor."

  
**[+].[+].[+]**   


Draco had not moved since Potter had brought Scorpius's shoes back to him. Still a mess of sobs and liquor, still clutching his son's shoes, Draco just stared down at his own hands. Void of all emotion, of all feeling, he had no energy to move, no hope to ever get up and carry on with his life. What was left for him but this hopelessness and despair?

Astoria had long ago excused herself. After Potter's news, she disappeared out the front door and was likely miles away, in her comfortable chateau in France, with her new fiancé, another wealthy Pureblood she could milk of money and compassion. Draco would have spat upon her heals if he'd had the strength; instead, he just listened to her receding steps and the slam of the large front doors. He would never see her again, and good riddance to that.

It was hours later, only when there was shouting and a loud crash from the next room over, that Draco managed to sit up. Dizzy from the whiskey and weak from Potter's news, he stumbled towards the clash of metal and the curses of strange men.

Draco's eyes widened as he looked upon the ghost of his son, who was breathless on the floor, a gash of blood sputtering from his throat as he gurgled in pain. Two Aurors stood over his body, and one of them dropped down, their hands on Scorpius's throat.

Panic laced through Draco's blood. Without thought, he rushed the pair of Aurors and pointed his wand at each of them in turn. " _Incarceratus_!" he shouted twice.

"Mr. Malfoy, we were just trying to—"

But the ropes spun out of Draco's wand and wrapped endlessly around both men. Draco raised the spell with his wand, watching until the rope had gagged and blinded both, before he turned back to his son, who was laying in a pool of his own blood, coughing up spatters of black and red onto the edge of a gilded portrait which had clattered out of his arms in the turmoil.

Draco crawled toward his son and gathered his face in his hands, shaking as he tried to stop the blood at the juncture of his throat.

"Scorpius! Scorpius, what have you done to yourself?"

Scorpius reached his bloody hands up, both twitching as they pressed to Draco's face. "Please," Scorpius gasped. "Please, help me."

Slowly, Draco removed his fingers and pressed them to his son's hands. "Shh, stay still, I know a counter-curse. Just stay still, Scorpius, and keep your eyes on me."

The déjà vu of the situation hit Draco somewhere in the pit of his stomach as he raised his wand and moved it over Scorpius's fragile, bleeding throat. The counter-curse was like a song, and Draco had only ever seen one other person use it—years ago, in a pool of his own blood, letting Snape fix what Harry Potter had broken. Now, Draco could only hope to say the spell correctly, to save Scorpius from whatever wrongs he had committed, to save him from death.

And somehow, it worked. After a moment, Scorpius stopped gurgling and started breathing again. His slender chest rose and fell, and his hands rose to grip Draco tightly.

"Help me," Scorpius whispered again.

At the sound of his voice, Draco's brow furrowed. He tipped his son's face up, glancing at the sewed-up lines from the incantation he'd performed. Scorpius was no longer bleeding, and with a little dittany his scars would heal just as Draco's had. Draco couldn't understand why Scorpius would be begging for help when his life had just been saved, when he was okay and safe and healing.

"Don't worry," Draco said, smiling for the first time in two days. "You're all right now. The worst is over. I'll take care of you."

As Draco leaned down to press a kiss to his son's forehead, Draco didn't see Scorpius's fingers curling around his nearby wand, didn't see the light drain from his son's eyes nor hear the whisper cold and bitter on his lips.

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," Scorpius said. Draco fell immediately, lifeless before he hit the floor.

  
**[+].[+].[+]**   


_Finish this, now!_ The voice inside Scorpius's head was screaming so loud that Scorpius couldn't hear his own thoughts anymore. They had been replaced by Tom's shrill voice barking orders at him, and Scorpius could do nothing but blindly follow. _Stand up, take me to the cellar, and pick up where Lucius left off, you stupid boy!_

Scorpius stepped over his father's lifeless body and stumbled his way down into the cellars, which were cold and dark now, singing with the ghosts of all Lucius's wrongdoings.

" _Hurry_ ," Tom spat. " _Over there, under the floorboards where you found me, quickly!_ "

Nearly dropping the portrait in his haste, Scorpius fell to his knees on the floor near the place he'd found Tom originally and began feeling the floorboards. It was too easy to find the loose one, too easy to pry it apart with his blood-spattered fingertips, too easy to gather the potion ingredients and cauldron stuffed into the corner, and too easy to began mixing the last remnants of the potion as directed.

"You know," Tom said, pacing in his portrait. "I always thought the potion itself was the key to possessing someone beyond this painted prison, but I think your inescapable life debt is an ever better conductor for this path. I think the fact that you cannot do anything but allow me access, that some part of you is willing to allow it, is the true key. That is what Lucius lacked all this time, that is why I could never possess him without the potion. But you," Tom leaned in close and stroked the furthest edge of the canvas affectionately. "Your body will be such a willing vessel. And despite your pathetic attempts to escape this moment, I am a man of my word. I will reward you once I am strong enough to take another body, and you will be my most beloved servant."

Scorpius's fingers trembled as he mixed the final ingredients and murmured the proper incantations, ones he'd never heard before in his life. Green smoke began to billow from the cauldron, and the scent of it made Scorpius's stomach churn in disgust.

"Now, the moment the smoke clears, you are to drink every last drop, do you understand me? Your hesitation will only cause you more pain in the long run, when I force every drop down your throat."

With a stiff nod, Scorpius turned his attention to the potion. Fear gripped his insides. After he drank that, there was no turning back; he would cease to exist and Tom Riddle would be inside his body. All the romance of the idea had long since deceased. Having lived through momentary possession back at Harry's house, Scorpius now understood what it truly meant to him. There would be no Scorpius Malfoy left, and all the things he had struggled for, all the good he had attempted to do that had blown up in his face, would be gone. Once Riddle possessed him, Scorpius would die. There was no amount of praise or promise from Tom on the contrary that could still the fearful pounding of Scorpius's heart as the green smoke sizzled to a stop and the air was clear between them.

_Do it, now!_

Unable to resist, Scorpius tipped the liquid into the waiting chalice, and drank it all. As he sputtered, choked, and vomited at the intrusion to his body, he fell to the floor in pain and Tom Riddle entered him with one rough jolt that stopped his heart forever.

  
**[+].[+].[+]**   


On the other side of the painting, things were exquisite. The world sparkled for Tom once more, and he longed to touch every dark surface, to wet his fingers through every liquid and burn them through every fire. On this side of the world, he looked back upon an empty painting, where a black hole pierced the center of the frame. The canvas was torn and curled around the intrusion, as if a fire had burned straight through it.

Tom smiled. The world belonged to him now, and when he raised his arm to grip his wand, he felt the magic once again pulsing through his veins.


End file.
